


On Vacation

by Ellimac



Category: Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, maybe au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4838585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellimac/pseuds/Ellimac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Charley take a break from their hectic lives to relax and drink some coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Eight/Charley September.

Charley held her hands around her coffee cup, sighing contentedly with the warmth. It was a blustery day outside, and not the fun kind of blustery where there’s snow everywhere, but the kind where there might be a little bit of snow but it’s all mixed up with rain and hail and even if it landed anywhere it would be too gray to be considered proper snow anyway. The cup was a welcome change in temperature for her cold hands.

The Doctor, contrary as he was, had not yet sat down. He was in an argument with the barista and the customer in line behind him about something that had nothing to do with coffee, but they all seemed very interested in anyway. Charley watched from her table in the corner of the room, wondering when he was going to remember that he’d come here with company and sit down with her, then leap up because he’d forgotten about his drink, and get into an argument all over again.

It turned out she needn’t have wondered. His coffee order—something vanilla with extra foam and, Charley was not surprised to see, a mountain of whipped cream—was called, and he immediately stopped the discussion and went to collect it. She watched, amused, as he stood at the counter with a sugar packet in hand, as though debating whether or not to add it, and ended up putting it in his pocket, presumably for later use on a beverage that was less sweet. The he sauntered over and gave her a bright smile.

“Sorry for the delay,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe what that woman was trying to tell me about quantum generator flux. She had it all backwards.”

Charley smiled indulgently and sipped her coffee. It had cooled enough that it didn’t burn her mouth, but it was still deliciously warm. “Do tell, Doctor.”

“Well,” he said, clearly about to take her up on her word, “ _she_ seemed to think that there’s some sort of negating force, so most of what you get out of it is useless, but of course that’s only true if you don’t account for the dampening effect in your initial calculations, which any scientist worth their salt would have done in the first place. And then the chap behind me tried to butt in and say that such calculations were impossible—well! As if quantum generator flux would be any _use_ otherwise!”

He took a sip of his coffee and came away with whipped cream on his upper lip. Charley laughed, and he looked at her in puzzlement.

“What’s so funny about that? Quantum generator flux is no laughing matter.”

She reached across the table to wipe her finger across his upper lip to show him. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said, waving her finger, which was now sporting a whipped cream hat, “because you always _are_ , but you seem to have grown a mustache.”

He wiggled his lip and smiled at her. “Ah, that’s what I get for drinking these American drinks.” He licked his lips and grinned at her. “Did I get it?”

She licked the whipped cream off her finger. “I think, between us, that we got it all. But you do have a lot more whipped cream to go through.”

He looked morosely down at his drink. “I really didn’t think this through, did I?”

“Not to worry. I’ll help you.” Charley took her stirring spoon and scooped out a chunk of whipped cream from the Doctor’s drink, and plopped it into hers. “There. Much better.”

The Doctor took another sip of his drink, and this time managed to come away with no mustache. Charley smiled and absently stirred her own drink as the cream slowly dissolved.

“Much better,” she said. “Between you and me, I don’t think you can really carry off a mustache.”

“I could,” he said indignantly.

“You could not.” Privately, she added, _I wouldn’t want to kiss you as much then_.

“I _could_. I’m sure I’ve grown a mustache before, in fact. At least once.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that so? When was that?”

“…I can’t remember,” he admitted. “But I’m sure it happened.”

She laughed and reached her hand across the table. To her delight, and somewhat to her surprise, he understood what she was after, and his hand met hers halfway. “I don’t think it did, Doctor,” she said. “I think you’re making it up.”

He took a large gulp of his drink, which sent him into a brief coughing fit. “Sorry—swallowed it wrong. What was that?”

Charley leaned forward. “You’ve never had a mustache in your life. Er, lives. You’re making it up.”

“Well… maybe.” He frowned. “Why are we talking about this again?”

“Because we’re on holiday, and we’re not going to talk about Daleks, or Cybermen, or anything that might be a threat to the universe, all right? We’re having _fun_.”

“Fun? What—running for your life from Vortisaurs isn’t fun?” He grinned at her. “But all right, I take your point. Have _you_ ever grown a mustache, Charley?”

She laughed aloud. “Don’t be ridiculous, Doctor.”

He shrugged. “You never know. I’ve met several ladies with very fine mustaches in my time. Actually, in some periods of human history, it’s quite fashionable for ladies to sport mustaches.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes,” he went on, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “It’s far in your future, of course, but it’s quite the trend, in the twenty-fifth century. Or was that the thirty-fifth? I never can remember. It’s quite a lovely time period, though.”

“Doctor, I don’t believe a word of it,” Charley said, though by now she knew better than to doubt the Doctor’s word on the strange and unbelievable; she knew he wanted her to play along, and she was more than willing. “It simply can’t be true.”

“It is true,” he declared. “I’ll take you there, I’ll prove it.”

She leaned forward. “Is that a promise, Doctor?”

There was a brief moment of time, a single heartbeat for her, when their eyes met, and she thought she saw something in the Doctor’s—an endless sea of affection, perhaps, or more realistically, a mere gleam of excitement. Either way, he squeezed Charley’s hand, and when he spoke his voice was low and eager, as if he were bestowing—or receiving—a great gift.

“Charley Pollard, it is a promise,” he said.

She beamed. “I can’t wait.”


End file.
